You tend to find places in Kensington, are generally a bit on the small side, are extremely close together, and are stupidly expensive.
There has become a tendency, as you can't really build outwards with these properties, to expand them, you go downwards, and add a basement, or two, or maybe even three floors. You can imagine, without getting your house to collapse in the process, this is a pretty major and tedious procedure.
While this work goes on, it's a bit crazy for anyone who lives on your street, let alone those who might happen to live next door. Crazy, actually isn't the word. It's a year to eighteen months of not being able to hear your TV, answer telephone calls, or even think, between the hours of about 8am to the six o'clock evening news.
That's one of the things that's bugging Brian. Still, unlike many others living there, he has got his place in Windlesham, where he can seek refuge, and when it all calms down in Kensington, he can always fuck up the people who've been fucking him up, by building his own series of basements.
What is left of your dream?
Just the words on your stone.
A man who learnt how to teach,
But forgot how to learn.